


Here In The Moment At Hand

by ruric



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-16
Updated: 2006-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:51:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here In The Moment At Hand

I saw you in the bar late one Saturday night. I don’t remember the date, I’ve never been good with things like that but if I thought hard I could probably work out the month and the year.

It was crowded, bodies packed so close it was impossible to move without getting an elbow in the ribs, or feeling the soft voluptuousness of scantily clad flesh press against skin as people eeled their way through, trying to get to that last drink before the bar closed and they were thrown out to move on to the inevitable party in a friend of a friend of a friend’s house.

Raised voices, yells and laughter drowned out the music until the only thing left was the heavy base throb pushing against my ear drums, sliding into my mouth and down my throat to lodge in my chest with every breath.

A cloud of fog hung in the air a couple of feet over everyone’s heads, a combination of smoke and sweat, the pulsing blues and greens and reds of the lights reflected back onto the damp hair and faces of the crowd beneath giving everything a weird, unreal glow.

The harshness of the air was making my eyes itch and my throat was sore from yelling over the music. I’d lost track of my friends an hour ago, drunk enough beer and whiskey chasers that the world was starting to get a little fuzzy round the edges and I was ready to start thinking about calling quits and going home. And that’s when it happened.

The crowd parted, as if a scythe had run through grass, and I looked up and saw you. Faded jeans with the knees ripped out, worn leather belt with a big silver buckle, cotton shirt with frayed cuffs, your head rocking back into the wall, eyes closed as you swallowed beer from the longneck your fingers were wrapped around.

Your chin lowered as you stopped drinking, your eyes opened and met mine, laughter lines creasing at the corners as your lips curved up into a look full of challenge just as the crowd closed. 

I was moving before I’d even thought about it. 

A shoulder roll to slide past the first person, palm pressed to wet silk in the small of someone else’s back, hip bumping against hip, muttered apologies as I pushed my way carelessly through until I stood in front of you.

Condensation ran in rivulets down the matt black wall behind you like rain on a window pane, and as I leaned in I could see where damp cotton clung to your shoulders. You smelled of dust and horses, smoke and sweat, your lips were warm and you tasted of beer and acid bite of good whiskey matured in seasoned oak casks. 

When I pulled back your lips quirked up into a lazy smile that I felt I’d known my whole life. 

“What took you so long?”

You winked and turned away and I followed you out into the night.

That was the first time we met.


End file.
